shadow of the wood. Then
we talked about autumn, and about the pleasures of being lost in the
woods, and about the crows, whose voices Margaret had heard; and about
the experiences of early childhood, whose influence remains upon the
character after the recollection of them has passed away; and about the
sight of mountains from a distance, and the view from their summits; and
about other matters of high and low philosophy. In the midst of our
talk, we heard footsteps above us, on the high bank; and while the
person was still hidden among the trees, he called to Margaret, of whom
he had gotten a glimpse. Then he emerged from the green shade, and,
behold! it was Mr. Emerson. He appeared to have had a pleasant time; for
he said that there were Muses in the woods to-day, and whispers to be
heard in the breezes. It being now nearly six o'clock, we
separated,--Margaret and Mr. Emerson towards his home, and I towards
mine....

Last evening there was the most beautiful moonlight that ever hallowed
this earthly world; and when I went to bathe in the river, which was as
calm as death, it seemed like plunging down into the sky. But I had
rather be on earth than even in the seventh heaven, just now.

* * * * *

_Wednesday, August 24th._--I left home at five o'clock this morning to
catch some fish for breakfast. I shook our summer apple-tree, and ate
the golden apple which fell from it. Methinks these early apples, which
come as a golden promise before the treasures of autumnal fruit, are
almost more delicious than anything that comes afterwards. We have but
one such tree in our orchard; but it supplies us with a daily abundance,
and probably will do so for at least a week to come. Meantime other
trees begin to cast their ripening windfalls upon the grass; and when I
taste them, and perceive their mellowed flavor and blackening seeds, I
feel somewhat overwhelmed with the impending bounties of Providence. I
suppose Adam, in Paradise, did not like to see his fruits decaying on
the ground, after he had watched them through the sunny days of the
world's first summer. However, insects, at the worst, will hold a
festival upon them, so that they will not be thrown away, in the great
scheme of Nature. Moreover, I have one advantage over the primeval Adam,
inasmuch as there is a chance of disposing of my superfluous fruits
among people who inhabit no Paradise of their own.

Passing a little way down along